Finally returning felt like nothing else, as if we had just overcome something we were not supposed to. I had never been so cold in my entire life, my bones shaking within me. Then we saw the shelter we were seeking; our tents, half-collapsed, their walls blowing in the air like pieces of paper in the wind.
Returning back to base two weeks ago, we knew that our unit was going to be the first in Nahal to go for "Shavua Sadaut" ("Field Week"), notoriously the hardest part of a soldier's basic training in the IDF. Traditionally, it is meant to be one full week where a unit sets up camp in the middle of nowhere and learns how to operate, survive, and fight on the bare minimum. Sound tough? If only it were that simple... for us, we were told we would have two full weeks of Sadaut instead, just as the worst weather crisis in recent Israeli history was traveling across the country.
The first few days were spent getting our equipment ready. We wondered if we would actually end up going. The north of the country was covered in snow and a terrible national storm was making its way toward us quickly. But then again, we are the combat soldiers of the IDF, and we shouldn't fear a little rain.
Our first day, we went and learned all of the basics. I have to admit I was a bit nervous about going out into the desert and doing this specific training, regardless of the weather, but I was surprised to find that it was actually really interesting. Then the wind picked up and the weather dropped rapidly, black clouds covering the sky above us. A few hours later, we were in trouble and would have been putting ourselves in serious danger.
Trying to build our tents and the rest of the damaged parts of the base back up that night was extremely difficult. Morale was low, as you would expect, with all of our equipment and clothing wet and freezing. We were told we would continue the week as planned, with all of the same lessons and training being conducted as usual, except that we would stay on base. This meant we would still be eating combat rations and be held to the strict disciplinary and operational standards of being out in the field. As snow fell on the surrounding areas and the temperature held at such drastic depths, I am not sure there was any difference.
As interesting as the week was, it was extremely taxing on me. Each day we were anticipating the announcement that we would be heading back to the field, but it never came... in a way, we knew that it wouldn't. It was too dangerous. And even though we were given the "gift" of staying on base for Shabbat instead of going out into the field, the week had taken its toll. I felt weak and the conditions had impacted my mood severely. On top of that, a shoulder problem that had started for me a few weeks prior was starting to become worse. When you are injured in the army, you feel totally useless. You want to help your friends, you want to lift that stone or pull that rope, and when you can't, it is one of the worst feelings. Overall, I wasn't in the best place. Luckily, I had a friend nearby from my Garin who felt similarly, and we talked it out together and helped each other get our minds and emotions back together.
Noam and me on Hannukah. Always great to have Garin family close-by
Shabbat flew by and, as expected, we finally went to the desert for good. Although still freezing, we were just happy that the rain had gone away and the sky was completely blue. The only catch would be that because there ware some things we had missed out on because of the weather, it would all have to be compressed into the one week, something sure to be difficult on us.
The week was full of even more interesting lessons and experiences. We learned how to take targets down in pairs and groups, camouflage, survival, and much more. The days were exhausting and the nights always full of surprise wake-ups for one reason or another. Maybe I'll save those stories for another post in the future. We also had a competition between all of the different squads on all we had learned. It was good to see everyone work together and apply the training in a fun way. It was hard to believe that the fun atmosphere we had created in what was such a challenging environment was possible, remembering how it had been the week before.
One highlight of the week was learning how to give commands in Hebrew. Naturally, it was a huge struggle for me, and my commander ensured me that all I would have to know how to do was respond to my partner, who would be the one tasked with giving the orders. Even this was difficult, and I was nervous when we were told to demonstrate what we had learned in a drill for the samal ("sergeant"), a tough character who is very hard to please. He was completely unhappy with our first run, turned to me and told me that we had to do it again and that I would be giving the commands instead. I had nothing to say, but my body must have told him just how little confidence I had that I could do it successfully. He nodded at me and told us to start. By the end, I had done it just about as well as I could. He had a small smile on his face, and so did my commander, who was at the bottom watching. They congratulated me on a good drill and on how I had done.
At the end of the week, we had our masa samal, a march of ten kilometers plus two with the stretchers open (someone lying on top of it) led by the sergeant, at a ridiculous pace. A lone soldier blog is full of descriptions of how difficult, yet rewarding, mascot are. Needless to say, this one was intense. Because of the situation with my shoulder, which I will have to start physical therapy on, I was told that I wouldn't have to carry any of the extra weights some people are assigned, and instead would just have to concentrate on getting through the masa, that it would be difficult enough for me. Again, I felt a bit down about it, that I couldn't do as much as everyone else.
The beginning was fine. The first six kilometers flew by without a problem. I led the line and felt bad about it, as if I had some kind of unfair handicap. Although my back and shoulders were killing me, I knew that I didn't have the burden of extra weight to slow me down or make it harder for me. Then, it all changed. We were marching through intensely difficult land, uphills, rocks... all at a speed I wouldn't walk even in the biggest of rushes. In front of me, the pakal maim, an infamously heavy pack of many water bottles, fell to the floor, its straps broken, and the soldier who was supposed to hold it too weak to pick it back up. I followed my gut and took it, telling him to keep going. It hurt badly, but it made me feel better, like I was contributing as I should be.
Then, the stretchers opened. The samal stopped us all with an almost evil grin on his face. He announced that three soldiers would be going on the stretchers for the thirty of us to figure out how to carry (four people have to be under a stretcher at all times, and we trade out whenever needed). Except, he added, as if he had been waiting for this all week, they would be the three biggest guys in our whole company. Panic set in... we didn't know how we would accomplish this. We didn't have time to think, though, and started going. I will never be able to describe how it feels to carry a broken water pack and a stretcher on an injured shoulder, but it was one of the best emotions I have ever had, like nothing could stop me.
When we finished, we all felt incredibly proud. We were told we had finished one of the hardest experience we would encounter in our training, made to run a bit for good measure, and read a passage by a soldier about why he enlisted to a combat unit. As we stood there in formation and listened, tears started coming out of my eyes. It had been such a roller coaster for me those last few weeks, but there I was, standing, on the other side of it. Every reason they listed, every difficulty read out loud, I identified with and felt. It was me, my reasons for coming here, and my reasons for being a combat soldier.
- Darren
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